Reavy woke up in complete darkness. How long has she been here? Hours, days, weeks perhaps. Her whole body was sore and her mind was a misty haze. All she remembered were torn pieces of something

that felt like a dream. Unable to even remember who she was, she tried to move just to realize her hands are chained quite high to the wall. Hours passed as she sat there in darkness, her memories slowly

coming back in pieces. Soldiers, a weapon, familiar faces cropped up in her mind that gave her the feeling of belonging somewhere.

Specialist Johnson knocked on the door and entered the room, where specialists Hopper and Davenport discussed various issues over a glass of whiskey. Hopper looked at his colleague curiously: "Any news?". Johnson raised small dossier: "Report on the incicdent from our investigator just came through. There was a fire set by the garage as a diversion. Whoever did it was smart enough to throw box of ammo in the fire to make it sound like an attack. Furthermore the fire was set by the timed incendiary explosive... that ruled out most of the usual suspects. We also sent whatever remained of the attacker to the lab for tests to see if it sheds any light on the nature of the assailant and i think we hit a Jackpot".

Davenport joined in rather sceptically: "Since when do we care about wastlander conflicts?" but Hopper quickly cut him off: "Five of our men were wounded in the explosion. Not only does it directy affect our assets but it also harms our reputation. If we don't do anything, soon we will have wastelanders having gunfights in front of our HQ, our field teams attacked by scavengers, et cetera... Please continue Johnson".

The young Specialist cleared her throat"Few years back Director Simmons ordered DNA samples be taken from all mercenaries contracted on Outsider business. One of those was woman called "Reavy". Ran a small high-profile mercenary outfit out of sector two, called Wolfpack. When we compared the DNA with the Lifenet database and GlobalTech records, we got a heavily encrypted file designated CX-36951-A from the Globaltech weapons research database. At that point i was transferred from the lab to the field teams so i don't know if we ever got anything out of it. But the nature of the research our department worked on was getting us information on need to know bassis, so i don't even know why were we running DNA samples through the database."

Hopper stared into his table for a moment before looking up at Johnson "Contact the head of your old department and request the file on this woman". He then turned his attention to Davenport "Assemble a field team. I want her found and brought in, by any means necessary."

As he gotten close enough he reached to remove attackers helmet, holding the shotgun in half assed stance. At that moment, female voice muffled by what seemed to be extreme pain spoke to him through the helmet mask.

"Stop" she barked at him.

Wiseguy grabbed onto the helmet, trying to pull it up confident his oponent was too wounded to resist.

"Why would i?" he asked with a smirk as his colleague also stared moving up, not liking how the shotgun bearing wiseguy stood between him and the attacker.

"Hammertime" she said as she raised her head up to get on his eyelevel, her voice suddenly calm as she stopped faking the pain...

Sunday mornings can be wonderful. Especially in Springtime. The bright sun rises into a crystal blue sky, birds sing, and there is a perfectly peaceful silence that exists before the bustle of the town ensues. In short, all the promise of a perfect day.

Hyle opened her eyes to her sun-filled bedroom. The fresh spring morning filled her senses...

She hoped there would be luck tomorrow with who she thought of as -Wee man-. He talked weird but liked how it made her think of a word puzzle. She made sure to keep asking him things till he raced out of speaking range.

Canni hoped he would have the putty she needed, not knowing what something is makes it difficult to find

The tears were real, she was horribly lonely and frightened, adults only seemed to like her if she did not need or want to be around them all the time. So she learned how to lie and act like she never cried herself to sleep every night.

Just north of Oilville there is a small mound surrounded by ragged tents made out of stretched sandworm hide. It is the home of Dust Lizards, a family of scavengers who survive by stealing on the Oilville outskirts and occasionally even going into a dangerous ordeal of scavenging minefields and other town defenses. They would sneak up during the night and cut out the wire fence without bothering to exploit the opening. They would just take the wire and salvage it, reselling it in Linewood.

I'm getting restless. Holed up underground. Safe and useless as a dead man in a coffin. It's ironic where I am hiding, but it's working. But there is something more. Like a voice in a barrel, I can't make out the words. Something I've missed... something important.

The doctor entered in the small room formed by four dark gray walls covered in mud, cobwebs and fresh cement in an attempt to restore or at least keep the building standing. In the middle, Allriae was sitting at a small wooden table, probably brought there for the occasion. The man in doctor's coat sighed, clearly denoting how little affection he has for his job. In two short steps he was already sitting at the table in front of the girl and without looking at her he placed a small folder on the table and went straight into the question:

Death. What did it mean to me when I was laying there, bleeding... At that moment and time, it mean't I needed to say and do what I needed to in that last breath. To speak my mind to all those around me and make them understand the message I was trying to share with them.

He got into the driver seat, smiling as the engine came to life. “Seems there is still some life left in this car.” He turned his smiling face towards Reavy sitting next to him. “Where should we go?” He faked looking surprised and a little repugnant. “The bar you say?” He shrugged. “Do you think they will be chanting your name again like obedient children?” He backed the car out of the garage. Steering around Reavy’s car, then blew out of there.

Suddenly he threw himself forward and down, he landed on the floor in an angle denying Reavy a clear line of fire, at least if she continued to move in the same direction. He fired at the car’s headlights, taking them both out with five rounds. He started rolling back into cover behind the wall. A bullet pocked the floor where his head had been a split second earlier.

After making sure that Reavy was nowhere to be seen, DeStefano thanked his fellow Travelers, and drove south across the plains. He did not dare go back the way Reavy had gone. When the tires of the car once again found concrete, it was on the unmapped road leading south to the road connecting New Flagstaff and Hope Springs.

Reavy’s car came cruising casually along the street, heading towards him. His heart was pounding and the ground he stood on felt like it was tilting. Terror had taken a hold of him, and made his hands go for his revolvers. He pulled a revolver with each hand from his billowing black coat, firing them at the approaching car.